Ricochet
by Mug of Doodles
Summary: Mo is torn by the death of his friend, but a new recruit seems to bandage the pain. Implied MoCoy. MoGlitch will develop.
1. If you insist

**I figured that MacCoy, Dare and Oblio didn't just vanish without a reason, at least in the DC universe. I wanted to kinda fag around with that idea, plus write some angsty MoCoyGlitch love triangle thingy. This is practice, Im trying to exercise this angst blob in my core, its surrounded by fluff. Im contemplating how fucked in the head I should write these guysss.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Dance Central characters. They belong to Harmonix, lucky bastards.**

It had only been a couple months following the passing of MacCoy and his death afflicted everyone he'd known, even sorrow weaved its infinite net onto Dr. Tan's seemingly cold heart. Attacks on Dance Central had ceased, at least for the moment or until everyone caught their bearings to the point that they could chug along again. The man was a tycoon but not an _entirely_ heartless bastard—a point most people overlooked.

Beauty withered for a moment—the redhead's heart melting into a weaker, more malleable substance, and Angel planned to take advantage of this. Aubrey was still _Aubrey_, however, but she became more bearable for the other crews. She wasn't particularly _close_ to MacCoy but Mo was her confidant in a way. The B-boy accepted her as she was even before the tragedy and besides, he was the one that was suffering the worst. Her crewmate, the poor thing that she teased nearly every day, had lost immense weight. A grieving Latino failed to consume his meals, finding nearly anything set in front of him unappetizing, until Aubrey quite literally shook some sense into him. No longer ignoring their innate chemistry, mostly on Aubrey's part, the couple turned to each other for comfort.

Emilia, the thick-skinned and not-quite-tomboy athlete, had lost an extraordinary running partner. The blond was excessively flirtatious with her, never quitting even after she knocked him in the back of his head a few times. MacCoy was always persistent and it soon became a routine where both parties accepted the events as the norm in their lives. It was all in good fun. An unbreakable bond grew between the athletes and the two fireballs told each other _everything_. She was always there, welcoming him with open arms, when MacCoy was confused about his emotions—his worry leading him to believe his feelings for Mo were unacceptable. Now she was here for Mo, soothing him with hugs and the bold truths of MacCoy's passing.

As expected Oblio, the lone wolf of the group, appeared unaffected. Looks were proved to be deceiving when marigolds were occasionally found sprouting or potted around the tombstone that nobody could account for. A reoccurring poem popped up from time to time, held fast to the cold marble by a smooth stone that informed MacCoy that although he annoyed Oblio on a daily basis he still appreciated his effort. The blunette didn't care to see the others and, the way he figured, MacCoy would understand; MacCoy would forgive him for being so socially distanced. He knew the Russian felt the same way, somewhere hidden in the recesses of his heart, on occasion.

Taye had seen the last of Dare, deeply troubled because she lost two friends she cared for. The raver showed for the funeral, shocking pink wig gone for the moment and surprising everyone with how black her hair was, how the neutral color reflected their emotions and attire. Dance Central knew she'd return one day and held their breath until she did, especially Taye. Everyone suspected that Taye missed Dare more than MacCoy and they hadn't exactly missed their mark.

Mo had been hit even harder, grief transforming into a ton of bricks weighing his chest down and threatening to crush his ribs, perhaps even harder than Grams. The grandma's boy had an immeasurably deep bond with his grandmother but a different, far more powerful love for Mo. They had shared and seen more of each other than family ever would. Tumbling into a dark depression, the powerhouse's foundation crumbled while he turned to alcohol and the occasional hit.

Life grew increasingly hopeless, leaving Mo swimming in the dark, until he found a small toprocker that possessed the same glimmer in his eyes that MacCoy did. Never entirely sure why, he approached the boy and offered his friendship to him. The youngster, who informed him that he preferred to be called Glitch, had quite obviously heard of him and accepted Mo's offer with the same enthusiasm the blond Russian showed often.

"Ohman, ohman. Yer Mo, _the_ Mo! 'Course ya can be my mentor but I got nothin' but skills now so I ain't too sure 'bout not bein' able ta keep up. Not that I wouldn't appreciate yer opinion, its jus' tha—"

For the first time in an_ agonizingly _long year, Mo laughed, but it wasn't a simple chuckle. A full-blown guffaw full of snorts and happy crying lightened the load on his miraculously still beating heart. Watching the other puff his pink-tinged cheeks out in embarrassment and mutter unintelligible words of sarcasm Mo stifled his obnoxious bursts of laughter and pulled the teen into a friendly embrace, unaware of Glitch's dreamy expression and wobbly knees.

"I got my own lil' fan boy."

**~~~~~MOGLITCHPLZ~~~~~**

Several more months passed, totaling five months racked up on the time scale, and Mo wasn't completely over his toprocker. He'd managed to live now; Mo could breathe willingly without an invisible vice grip on his half-throbbing heart but _something_ was missing—something he couldn't see but only feel. Luckily, Angel prompted a visit and the two were having, yet another, heart-to-heart conversation.

The Latino was such a sap.

Glitch pouted, feeling like the third wheel that broke from the carriage and rolled downhill. It was another one of _those_ nights, the ones that felt dreadfully long and boring. It was one of those nights where _somebody else_ was enjoying Mo's company and he wasn't. A childish scowl made a home on his features as he huffed, arms crossing over his chest as he glared up at the glow-in-the-dark stars the African American B-boy helped decorate his ceiling with.

Angel and Mo sounded like they were having fucking _oodles_ of fun, the bastards. Well, mostly Mo, who was laughing as loud as he could while Angel, chuckled quietly beside him. He briefly wondered why they were enjoying themselves so much and jealousy soon sprouted, growing until its ugly vines squeezed Glitch's heart.

'_Why can't I be out there wit' 'em?'_

Stubbornness driving him forward, he decided that he'd show Mo that he was old enough to do as he pleased. A swelling of pride propelled him to turn the knob that his hand somehow latched on to and he barreled into the living room. Mo hadn't bothered looking up, face buried in the crook of Angel's neck, but Angel had. Dark browns stared the Latino down, Glitch relinquished his contacts before being sentenced to his bedroom, and the salsa dancer shot him a bewildered look. Honey orbs flickered over the tabletop, littered with amber bottles, and towards the young B-boy in worry. Glitch stood his ground, hand triumphantly resting on a slim hip, with a smug smirk that quickly dissipated.

This didn't look fun at all.

"S'all this, Ange?"  
>Angel muttered a curse in his native tongue before answering with a soft, "Go back to sleep, Glitch."<br>"I wanted to see what was goin' on…" he started, tone a bit dejected.  
>"You wouldn't understand," Angel didn't want to make an attempt at explaining a situation he wasn't exactly comfortable with revealing.<br>"Like hell I wouldn't!"

Mo lifted his head at the outburst, eyes and nose rimmed red and puffy, "Watch yo' mouth, young'in."  
>"But Mo…" he whined, pleading with the grieving dancer, "I jus' wanna know if yer okay."<br>Glitch was lying and the other two dancers were too exhausted to see that. He wanted more than that, he wanted to know why Mo cried so much and some part of him wanted the older male to cling to him desperately while Glitch whispered words of comfort that steadied his heart.

A shrill ringing interrupted the room, shattering the tense atmosphere, and Angel flicked his phone off. He already knew who was calling and labeled answering as unnecessary. He glanced at Mo, eyes filling with regret, "I gotta go."  
>Mo nodded in appreciation, "Nah, it's cool, man. Ya deal wit' my whiny ass enough."<br>Angel rewarded him with a pitiful smile, "Heartbreak doesn't include whining, _conejito_."  
>Laughing bitterly, they bid each other farewell. Once the door closed behind the Latino, Glitch felt awkward around Mo again—maybe it was because he was acting harshly a few minutes ago or it could've been the way Mo <em>watched<em> him.

Glitch's heart thud noisily in his chest, sounding as if it were running a marathon, then it suddenly tripped over itself when Mo opened his mouth to speak.  
>"C'mere," he ordered softly, his voice was hoarse and it was then that the Asian locker noticed exactly how tired he was.<p>

Red slippers dragged across the wooden floor as he made his way to sit next to Mo. The captain of Hi-Def turned to Glitch after he plopped down, grasping his right cheek in his hand while a bittersweet smile adorned his face, "Ya got alotta potential, kid. I know I don't tell ya too often, but I appreciate ya. Stay in school, don't fuck it up. Ya dig?"

His younger counterpart nodded dumbly, entranced by Mo's warm eyes. His stomach did flips when a rough thumb trailed his lower lip, "Ya remind me of him."  
>Glitch had a faint idea as to who Mo was blabbing about, but his mind was hazing over, every fantasy he'd ever had that included his friend was flooding what little thought process he had left. His mouth dried, leaving his throat scratchy, "Who?"<p>

"_MacCoy_," Mo purred, hot breath washing over Glitch, causing his lips to twitch in response.  
>Glitch shuddered, wishing Mo would say <em>his<em> name that tenderly, slick tongue caressing _his_ name. Determined to press on he asked another meaningless question, "That was your best bud, right?"

A strange glint flashed through amber orbs as an odd smile was tossed Glitch's way, "We went beyond that. _Way_ past bein' friends."  
>Glitch's heart suddenly ceased, "<em>Oh<em>."

_What was he supposed to say to that? _

Warm lips met his briefly and, _ohfuck_, he realized Mo just kissed him. The fleeting, three-second peck felt like an eternity but Glitch still hungered for more, despite Mo's slightly bitter taste from what he consumed earlier. Mo gathered the small body into his lap, one hand lazily gripped his crewmate's hip while the other entertained feathery locks. Light pants left the younger locker's mouth as he leaned into the touch, exposing a pale neck for Mo to nip at.

Pretty teeth experimented with the soft flesh, teasing the other until he whispered for Mo to stop. He complied; pearly whites attacked an earlobe this time before thick lips glided across flushed cheeks and a strong hand guided their mouths together again. Glitch moaned loudly, whirling senses spiraling faster once Mo slipped his tongue inside, and tightened his hold on Mo's faded shirt. The kiss was far from perfect, desperate lips mashing with inexperienced ones, but it was enough to send spikes of heat shooting down both their limbs.

As quickly as it had happened it stopped, more specifically _Mo_ stopped—leaving a disappointed Glitch wheezing in his ear.  
><em>'This is wrong. This is wrong'<em> haunted Mo's thoughts after he savored the other dancer. Glitch tasted sweet, something akin to the innocence the darker male didn't want to steal away. The heat pooling below his navel was wearing his patience and morals thin as he tried to push off the clingy other.

"We can't do this,_ I_ can't do this," Mo admitted.  
>Glitch nearly choked, "Is it me? Cuz I dunno how ta kiss?" His words grew more frantic, "Ya could teach me. I can learn."<br>Mo began shaking his head until Glitch mumbled a crestfallen, _"I can be MacCoy."_


	2. Was it something I did?

**Ahh, hypocrisy and contradicting one's self. How beautiful. This is chapter such bullshit and I've noticed that this is as close to forming a plot as I'll ever get. How sad. Also, I'm derping in the Homestuck fandom so if you see an...oh I dunno….a BroCoy fic don't trip, son.**

**Next chapter is more about Mo and his whateverness. This is what happened the next morning. Shit will get explained in clumps.**

"_This is jus' a one-time thing, 'kay?"_

Staring at the kitchen tiles, while never actually _seeing_ them, Glitch realized a couple things. Well, more than a _couple_ really. He understood certain feelings and situations now that he knew he wasn't ready for or should be experiencing—emotions he didn't think would break him. So, standing in front of his idol, the one he currently loathed for a multitude of reasons, he decided to make his regret known one way or another.

A pair of sore arms and a heart hung heavily as Mo pressed a spoon he placed in the freezer over the dark bruises his too-rough love bites had resulted in. Sure, they felt _fucking amazing_ to the teen at the time, this fact made apparent by his insistent wriggling, but now they hurt and Glitch forced himself to suppress a whimper when recalling the events of last night. Chilled metal shocked his skin and his fists clenched into frustrated little blocks at his sides because he was trying so damn hard not to clench Mo's wife beater for comfort. Young pride wouldn't allow it, however, so he refused to touch the tagger, especially when Mo was currently sporting _that_ specific look on his face.

Neither pairs of eyes met since last night, not even when Mo practically fucking materialized behind him when he was brushing his teeth this morning to rid himself of that sour taste Mo had to him the previous night. The downrocker instantly averted his gaze to anywhere but sets of red-rimmed eyes while his fingers worked the spoon over his skin. Once it had warmed, Glitch's skin blazed whenever he was near the other (despite whatever negative opinions he had of him presently), he allowed it to clank noisily in the bathroom sink while dragging a protesting youth into the kitchen to set to work again.

The Korean was well aware of his short stature, having been teased about it most of his prepubescent life, but now Mo's height seemed to increase tenfold. Mo was looming over him like afar-cast shadow; even now he was extremely tall with his crooked stance and hung over state. Bags hung low under his eyes and his chest was less toned from when they had first met, maybe even from _before_ their first encounter. The _ex_-prankster, having ceased his practical jokes since the death of a certain blond, had been wasting away and Glitch wondered how he never took notice.

His view of his idol changed drastically, even more so than it had last night, when Mo woke in terror while clutching to his small frame desperately. It was so obvious before last night—why hadn't he seen it if he felt he truly loved Mo and that this wasn't some awkward crush he'd grow out of by the time his voice stopped cracking?

Now the locker understood that little bit of extra attention Mo seemed to have been receiving lately. They were watching him, probably keeping an eye on them both, and now that he thought about it; maybe they'd come to the conclusion that he'd eventually hurt Glitch too. Angel and Emilia were other members of DC that were close to MacCoy, so did they see the '_MacCoy'_ in him that the darker breaker did?

With a newly throbbing headache, the raven-haired youth grew increasingly pissed off at Mo, maybe even this MacCoy chump that he had to play seconds to last night. Yes, he suggested that they did, whatever a person would call it last night—he wasn't entirely sure. But honestly, he expected Mo to live true to the title Glitch bestowed upon him in his mind. Mo's breath was caressing his lips and he was so close he could taste him without them touching so who could blame the kid for hastily jumping at an amazing opportunity he thought he only had a single shot at without thinking?

None of this was fair.

Maybe he expected too much from this.

Glitch half-expected Mo, the man he idolized and deemed perfect, to never stray from the path of chivalry. Perhaps calling Glitch by his name was too much to expect and Glitch was being plain selfish, but he quickly shook those thoughts away. The prodigy still expected Mo to whisper something sweet-sounding into his ear, despite lost loves, that had absolutely nothing to do with _'sunflower locks'_ or _'freckled cheeks'_ before his mouth and hands ravaged his body. Most of all he expected Mo to tell him that he doesn't need MacCoy, memories of him, or a replacement; and instead he'd want Glitch for all he was worth.

So now, _fuck Mo_ if he was feeling low or lost or whatever it was because Glitch was tired of catching his lovesickness and running for his damn water bottle too enthusiastically.

_Yea_.

_Fuck Mo_, because ever since Glitch shushed his nightmares from him with a flurry of embarrassing-to-do chaste kisses, the downrocker had treated him like a used tissue he flung from the side of his bed. All this staring at him with a horrid hollow indifference when he thought Glitch's eyes were trained somewhere else made his head hurt. He couldn't read the most open part about him anymore—his _eyes_.

So, _yes_, his fists stayed by his sides and he sulked until Mo cleared his throat and spoke softly—it wasn't a gentle tone, but one hoarse and low from bawling. Despite this, his voice betrayed his outward stoic appearance and the young prodigy felt his heart tighten.

_He often jumped to conclusions so maybe…_

"I thought it was okay with ya cuz, well…"

Mo sensed Glitch's standoff aura, which puzzled him to no end. This whole situation was fragile and Mo mentally kicked himself in the ass for allowing his mistakes, the ones he tried to stray from in the first place, to cause him to fall from his partner's graces. The scouter was at a loss for words, he couldn't remember the last time that had been, and felt the need to explain his actions.

It would probably be best if they swept this under the hypothetical rug and forgot about it.

Words tumbled from his mouth at a slow and deliberate pace, "Yesterday was the anniversary of his death. I always say I can handle it on my own but I _can't_." Mo's speech continued to slowly form in his mind, nearly done thinking up the next part of his '_owed'_ explanation.

Glitch interrupted him with an abrupt, "Obviously."

Amber orbs blinked in hurt, it was one of those, 'Ouch, that actually kinda hurt' statements that pop up from nowhere and Glitch still wasn't looking at him. The next few words were more of an undercover apology that Mo didn't think he should have to say in the first place, "Ya can stay home if ya want."

On any other day the teen would have been happier than a pig in shit if Mo said he could stay home _alone_ with him, missing boring ass school being an added bonus, but right now it was the last thing he wanted. "Why? Ya can't hide 'em all?" he asked bitterly, referencing to the hickeys littering the visible parts of his upper body.  
>"No", came his blunt reply, "I jus' don't wanna have people askin' questions."<p>

Glitch didn't bother noting the guilt steeped into the words he spoke. "I don't wanna be here."

"I need ya here, _Glitch_."

That right there was what sucked him in again—the way Mo _emphasized_ the only vowel in his name and allowed it to roll off his tongue in such a way that made his already weak knees nearly give out. Memories of last night crippled his mind and he recalled the intoxicating smile Mo flashed at him—the one that felt as though he was smiling through him and looking at someone else but was charming and made him feel oh-so-good. Glitch could've backed out, Mo wouldn't have forced him, but he didn't want to.

His body remembered the bittersweet kisses Mo smothered him with as he shoved a chilling hand down Glitch's pajama bottoms—jerking the prodigy off smoothly and in all the right ways that made the Korean orgasm in seconds while he chanted, "Scream fer me, ''Coy."

He suddenly hated his own name and the way Mo said it—as if it meant something when the only name he knew last night was _MacCoy_. Calloused hands running through his mussed hair snapped him from his daze. Brushing Mo's hands away, suddenly realizing that he _was_ entirely too young for a relationship of this caliber, he allowed his words to ring clear throughout their small apartment.

"What'cha _need_ is help."

Both parties chose to lock eyes then, now that it was too late to solve their problems, and Glitch nearly changed his mind. Overbearing emotions still coursed through his veins however and he simply shook his head 'no' before turning around to leave Mo with his stupid spoon warming in his sweaty palms.

After a quick shuffle through his mountain of dirty laundry he found a sweater that didn't smell too bad and slipped on his baggy jeans from God knows how many weeks ago. He didn't look directly at Mo when he left; simply saw his figure leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen with that infuriatingly cool pose consisting of crossed arms and a capped head dipped low through his peripherals. It was odd how long of a process falling in love with Mo had been and how quickly he fell out of it with him.

When the door clicked closed behind the boy, Mo let out a dry sob that could've been mistaken for a shaky breath.


	3. Damage Control

**So, I know this chapter is short but I think it's easier to write that way. OTL;; This is...uhhhh 'dedicated', if that doesn't sound too gay, to artistic18 since she fagged with me about le characters and such last night. She inspired me to actually finish this story. Expect another chapter soon. (Whenever my charger isn't broken and I don't have to steal my mom's)**

* * *

><p>"Damn, homie."<p>

Mo didn't shrink away from the voice, he wasn't surprised either, because he had heard the voice hundreds of times before. He only welcomed the pale arms encircling his waist, while covering them with his own, and let out a quaking breath. It was one of those moments where someone had been crying and suddenly sucked in shutters of air. These confusing,conflicting emotions were unbearable alone.

Words escaped him, as he couldn't find himself in this faux euphoria, but everything was okay now that MacCoy was back. He could feel the shape of lips pressing against his shoulder blade before a cheek rested on his back. The sharpness of his cheekbone proved to Mo that this was _real._ It had to be.  
>"Where ya been, love?" His fingers slid across 'Coy's forearms to toy with his wrists—a simple pleasure he had taken for granted.<br>The B-boy felt the twist of the ex-toprocker's smirk through the thin fabric and the damp heat caused by his speech. "Been around."

"I missed you," he explained, gingerly prying the arms hooked around himself off so he could turn and face the other.  
>MacCoy was grinning up at him, cracked goggles and all, and Mo couldn't bear to resist leaning down to kiss him. Dark cheeks glowed and his spine tingled; the B-boy swore he could feel 'Coy sigh through his nose. This was how his life was <em>supposed<em> to be.  
>The Russian was the first to break for air, as he always did, with a cute, breathless expression on his face that always managed to drive Mo wild. Said dancer licked his lips in anticipation and dipped his head again for another kiss—this one would be rougher than the last and full of the loneliness he'd been feeling for so long, before MacCoy pushed him away.<p>

"Ya _do_ need help."

Groaning, his head fell to MacCoy's shoulder and he groaned. "Not you too, babe." He didn't need anything more than the boy who was in his arms.  
>More forceful in shoving him away this time, MacCoy made sure Mo was clearly looking at him now before he lifted the busted goggles from his face. Amber orbs could finally see that what used to be bright, vibrant blues were watery and glossed over now that the orange shield had been off. His face was caved in, the cheekbones broken in a way that made him look like a half-full moon in comparison to the untouched side of his face. Blood leaked from every orifice, but mostly his nose and his skin was now an angry pink that possessed a rigid texture. "I'm <em>dead;<em> I'm dead and ya still kiss me_."_

Somehow Mo managed to swallow the bile that crept up his suddenly dry throat, his saliva running out on him. This is how his friend looked before he was cleaned up for the funeral. Seeing it so vividly now compared to photographs from the investigation left Mo speechless. He wanted to say something but couldn't make a valid argument at this point. The times MacCoy did come back to him, usually special occasions or when he was feeling particularly lonely, they had never brought this subject to the table. All these problems that Mo refused to face blew over _perfectly;_ they could enjoy each other, if only for a moment, but now MacCoy popped Mo's delusional bubble.

The deceased blond tilted his head a way that made Mo feel as though he pitied him, peering at him with his lackluster eyes expectantly.  
>"I <em>know,"<em> Mo finally acknowledged, avoiding his gaze and staring at where there used to be freckles on his scarred chest.  
>'<em>There<em>'. The down rocker finally admitted the tragedy to himself, instead of insisting he was fine with their rendezvous' that he held as sacred. So, now what?  
>MacCoy nodded sagely, which made the tagger snort because that was uncharacteristic of him. MacCoy was too goofy and laid-back for Mo to think of him as some shaman type guy with the perfect answers to life's woes. He allowed the other to pull him to the floor, however; the floor felt cool beneath him in comparison to the waves of heat emanating from the other.<p>

Curling into his side and laying his head on his chest, the blond asked, "How's work?"  
>Now <em>this<em> was the routine he was used to. He could handle _this._  
>"Still lovin' it," he answered truthfully.<p>

A dark hand moved to comb fingers through blond locks and fingers brushed against the side of his temple. The texture of his burns shocked Mo and the downrocker moved his hand away to rest on the male's waist. The blond's chuckle reverberated throughout his own ribs as he gently repositioned Mo's hesitant hands to the side of his face.  
>"It would've <em>healed.<em> It'd be smooth if I had lived," MacCoy informed him. Mo couldn't differentiate the emotions in his voice, but the blue-eyed dancer didn't sound ashamed."Would ya have still loved me?"  
>His answer didn't immediately flow out, like he (and maybe MacCoy) expected it would, so he laid there honestly thinking to himself if he still could. The problem wouldn't be his <em>appearance<em> but all the _emotionally draining_ bills and conversations and fights struggling couples had that go along with a bumpy ride like that. He never wanted to think of them as having anything worse to worry about than _'who ate the last bag of cheetos'_.  
>"We would have problems, but we've been through worse," Mo supplied. Only half of his statement was true because they hadn't dealt with anything worse than this.<p>

Mo wasn't satisfied with his answer, so he added, "I _still_ love you."  
>"I believe ya."<br>The relief caused his to let his teeth shine.

Mo's smile broke when MacCoy suddenly piped up again, his hand pausing mid-stroke on his back.  
>"That Glitch kids' got talent. "I really <em>like<em> 'im."  
>Mo's tone was solemn, "He reminds me of you."<br>Mo couldn't see the other grinning but he _knew _there was one plastered across his face. "That's _prolly_ why I like 'im."

The couple shared a laugh and Mo suddenly woke up on the floor of his hallway with a pillow over his chest instead of under his head. His mouth tasted sour and probably tasted the same. Taking a deep, trembling breath and realized that the blond was right about _everything._

* * *

><p><em><em>**Think of MacCoy as Mo's subconcious taking on the appearence of him in his dreams due to all his pain and stress and blah. (If you hadn't caught onto that already.) Also, Mo prolly made out with that pillow LOL  
><strong>


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